


Abnormal Psychology

by eksterteran



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mental Illness, Narcissism, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eksterteran/pseuds/eksterteran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce was content. Why'd this new guy have to come muck it all up?</p><p>(This work has been abandoned indefinitely. Still...10k. That's worth a read, right?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Short chapters because the author is always right. <3

Bruce spent most of his days sitting in his room, reading. It kept him calm. Calm was very important with his condition. It kept the Other Guy from coming out.

He had been in the institution for years, one of the few like that. In fact, right now the permanent residents were just him and Donald…Thor…a schizophrenic who believed he was the Norse god of thunder. Donald was an alright guy, as long as you didn’t call him Donald (only the doctors did that) and didn’t question when he went off into a conversation with his invisible “brother” Loki, or got agitated and shouted to the skies for the Bifrost.

Others came and went. Clint had major depressive disorder and tended to lose his short term memory when he had an episode. Overall, though, he functioned well on his own with medication. Natasha only showed up by court order, when she had beaten up her current beau. Steve came in regularly for therapy through the VA for his PTSD, eating dinner at the institution Monday through Friday.

Every other person that came in would be there for a week, maybe two. They’d get their medication, get better, and leave. He didn’t have any patience for transitive personalities like that. He didn’t even like people to begin with, but at least some were solid presences he could grow used to, comfortable with. The doctors respected this and usually he had a room to himself.

Today, though, his therapist had bad news for him. The beds were full, they needed to give him a roommate. And seeing as how the Other Guy didn’t like Donald, they had decided to put the new patient in his room.

Cringing, he wiped a hand over his face, his heart starting to race anxiously, distracting him. “What’s he like?” He at least could try to prepare himself.

“You know I can’t tell you his diagnosis, but he seems very nice.”

The man that was in his room when he returned from therapy struck him as anything but ‘very nice’. Tony, the man’s name as he was immediately informed, started talking incessantly and didn’t seem to know when to shut up. Bruce didn’t even have to ask what his diagnosis was, Tony laid everything on the table right away.

“Alcoholic, sex addict, and certifiable genius. They say I’m psychotic, too, but that’s insane. No offense. This will all be worked out when Pepper shows up to pay my bail. I should be in rehab at some shmantzy resort, not this dump.” He stopped for a breath and Bruce interjected quietly.

“Bail?”

“Yeah, y’know, whatever you pay to get out of a place like this.” Grand gesticulations accompanied almost everything Tony said.

“And who’s Pepper?”

“My personal assistant. Girlfriend. CEO of Stark Industries. Real go-to girl.” He nodded enthusiastically and smirked.

Bruce watched him for a moment. The way Tony said ‘Stark Industries’ made it sound like something big and important. Made it sound like…Apple…or something. But he’d never heard of it, and he kept up with stuff like that. He filed the note in his head. Later he’d decide what it all meant. Right now he was exhausted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a man like you doing in a place like this?

With a sigh Bruce sat down on his bed, on his side of the room. It was obviously his side of the room because it looked like someone lived there. The shelves were full of books. If anyone had looked, the chest of drawers had clothes in it. There was a lamp and a newspaper on the bedside table. Obviously his side of the room.

Yet when he sat, it was next to an iPad. That was definitely not his. It shouldn’t even be allowed in the institution. He held it up and quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

Tony snatched it from his fingers lightly. “That’s my StarkPad. Highly confidential. No touchies.” The man whirled around and sat next to Bruce. On Bruce’s bed. “You wanna see, though? I’ll give you a tour. JARVIS?” The computer, which had been sleeping, opened to the voice command and Tony jabbed an icon. “Safari,” a British voice stated from the pad, and Tony grinned ear to ear. “They tried to take JARVIS from me, but I told them no, absolutely not. I made this AI myself, they’re not giving it to the fucking military!”

Bruce continued filing what Tony was saying as he looked at the screen. Tony might have opened Safari, but the connection to the internet was blocked. No wi-fi here, of course. So really the computer was an oversized notebook. Perhaps that’s why they’d let him keep it. The little rant about AI confused him, though. Obviously, the iPad was just set up to give and receive audio commands. That was a simple capability built into almost everything now, to assist the blind.

Little by little, he was starting to think maybe the diagnosis of psychotic wasn’t so far afield as Tony stated. But that was the point, wasn’t it? If you knew you were psychotic, then you weren’t. It’s one of the perks of being mentally ill; ignorance as bliss. He rubbed his hand over his face again. Not like his condition. Not really. He knew what he had, and as if Tony was reading his mind, the other man asked.

“So, what’re you in for? It’s not depression, is it? You’re not a downer? Because I really don’t think I can handle rooming with a platypus.”

Narrowing his eyes, Bruce tried for a moment to figure out what the hell a platypus had to do with anything, then shook his head. “No. I mean, I get depressed, but that’s not why I’m here. I have Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

“Multiple Personality Disorder? Like Sybil? Wow. So, who am I talking to now?” Tony stared intently at him, right in his eyes, and Bruce found it impossible to look away.

“Yeah…but there’s just two of me. Me, and the Other Guy.” Belatedly he realized he’d never told Tony his own name, had never been given the chance. He held out his hand. “I’m Bruce. Bruce Banner.”

“Tony Stark. Nice to meet you, Bruce.”

More became clear at those words, while they shook hands. Tony Stark. Stark Enterprises. Neither of which he had ever heard of, and he kept up with the news as much as he was allowed. The StarkPad, which Tony had ‘developed’, which was really just a handicapped enabled iPad.

“So, if you’re Tony Stark, then you…own…Stark Enterprises?”

“Inherited. From my father. Weapons manufacture, but I’ve turned that all around into philanthropy.” Something painful crept into Tony’s eyes, and he left the explanation at that. But the combination of the look in Tony’s eyes and the mention of a father made Bruce close his own eyes, breathing deeply as he felt the Other Guy whisper to him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce takes a walk down memory lane.

When Bruce’s father would beat him, he’d take it. He wouldn’t even fight. How could he, when the man was so much bigger than him? When his father knew best? He must deserve to be hurt and so he took all that pain and pushed it deep down inside him.

It was harder to do when his father beat his mother. Bruce didn’t believe she deserved it; she was the only one who seemed to love him. But again, what could a little boy do against a grown, drunken man? What could he do but push all that protectiveness and rage down even farther than anything else?

Eventually he didn’t try to avoid the beatings anymore. It was like he went somewhere else when they happened. Sometimes he couldn’t even remember them, waking up on the floor in his room with welts and bruises that told him enough about what had gone on.

He was eleven when the fateful day came. He was in a corner of the living room playing with an erector set, trying to not pay attention to the fact that his father had just come home. Hoping he’d be left in peace. He didn’t know his mother had gotten her hands on a gun. He wouldn’t know the significance even if he had been aware of the fact.

There were shouted words from the kitchen and he frowned, pulling himself deeper into the corner, making himself smaller. And then his father laughed. It was a horrible sound, the worst sound Bruce had ever come across. There was a deafening noise, and a scuffle, and he hurried to the doorway of the kitchen. His mother and father were on the floor, wrestling over the gun. His mother had fired, but only grazed his father’s shoulder.

In a flash Bruce’s father had the gun and without hesitation, with growled words Bruce only remembered in his nightmares, he put the gun to the back of his mother’s head and fired.

That’s the last Bruce ever remembers without hypnosis. His father made a fatal mistake after shooting Bruce’s mother - he dropped the gun on the floor by her prone form, laughing again. Every bit of rage and pain Bruce had quelled raced through him and he roared. Before his father could react, Bruce rushed forward and grabbed the gun. He didn’t need to aim, he was only a couple of feet from the man. He emptied the clip into his father’s chest.

When he woke up he was being pulled away from his mother’s body by a social worker. He was in shock, with no memory of cradling her form for over half an hour before the police arrived. He was terrified, with no memory of killing his own father.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other Avengers assemble.

“Hey, Bruce, c’mon back now. C’mon.”

Bruce blinked. Tony was snapping fingers in front of his face. He reached out and closed his fist around the other man’s hand to get him to stop.

”There ya go. I’ve gotta tell you, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. Your eyes turned hazel.” Tony grinned at him. Bruce was about to say it wasn’t cool, that he hadn’t been triggered in a long time and now look what Tony had done, when they were interrupted.

“It is time for the evening meal, my friends.” Donald was peeking his head around the half-closed door. “You are new here, correct? I am Thor, God of Thunder. And you are…?” Donald held out his hand but didn’t cross the threshold.

Tony hopped up and strode across the room to shake. “I’m Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. You know.” He shrugged. “Thor, huh? Nice to meet you.” Bruce couldn’t see Tony’s face, but he could hear the near snicker in the other man’s voice. Closing his eyes, Bruce sent out a quick prayer that his new roommate wasn’t going to be one of those assholes who delighted in antagonizing the other patients.

Nothing else happened, though. Donald nodded and smiled and left to get in line to eat. Tony turned on his heel and threw a thumb over his shoulder at the open door. “Was that a Nerf hammer he had in his hand? Crazy.” He didn’t say ‘crazy’ in a derogatory way, though. More in a ‘wow, that’s cool’ sort of way. Bruce smiled softly.

“Yeah, that’s Mjolnir.” Kind of like your StarkPad, he didn’t add. “Let’s go eat.”

Generally, Bruce waited until the end of the line, got his food last so he could find a table by himself without anyone getting a silly idea to sit with him. Tony wasn’t having any of it, though, talking his way up the line with a silver tongue and Bruce in tow. Before he knew what was going on, Bruce found himself at the front of the line, and Tony was everyone’s new friend. He shook his head in amazement.

“You’re good. You’re going to sit with me to eat, aren’t you?” The question was rhetorical and sounded resigned.

“You bet! What’re friends for?” Tony clapped him on the shoulder and Bruce flinched a little. “What, are you telling me you eat alone? That’s not any fun.”

Bruce shrugged, lowering his head a little when Tony threw an arm over his shoulders, as if he’d duck out of the touch. He didn’t have to, though, the orderlies opened the doors to the cafeteria and it was time to go.


	5. Chapter 5

“What _is_ this crap?” Tony slipped into the seat across from Bruce at the small, four person table and poked at the food on his plate experimentally with his fork.

“It’s meatloaf. And it’s actually rather good,” Bruce said patiently. Tony scowled. “If you don’t like meatloaf, you could have gotten a baked potato instead.”

“A baked potato isn’t a meal. And I know meatloaf, my mom used to make meatloaf. This isn’t meatloaf.” Trepidaciously he took a bite and swallowed. “This is like army rations…”

”Oh, were you in the army?” Bruce looked up as Steve came and sat with them, followed by Donald. The latter set down his tray and laid Mjolnir on the floor. Steve smiled with his question, genuinely eager to find someone else like himself.

“This is Tony, of the Starks,” Donald informed Steve, gesturing to Tony. “He arrived this afternoon.” Donald had double meatloaf and most of the offered sides. The doctors had decided with his height and build he needed more food than the other patients. Even so he dug into every meal like a starving man.

“Nice to meet you, Stark,” Steve held out his hand and they shook while Tony dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I’m Capt. Steve Rogers.” There was a pause as he waited expectantly, then prodded, “So, were you in the army?”

Tony shook his head and chuckled. “No way, Cap. I’m not that stupid. No offense.” Steve went chilly and Bruce’s jaw dropped a little. “What? Did I just say something wrong? I just said something wrong, didn’t I? I’m not saying you’re stupid. It’s just idiotic to volunteer to get yourself killed. I’m worth way more than that.”

‘Well,’ thought Bruce as Steve and Donald excused themselves, the latter looking like he was going to argue a point but Steve wouldn’t let him stick around. ‘That cleared the table.’

Tony just shrugged when they left and went back to eating his meal with only the occasional complaint. His eyes would scan the crowd in the room, most of them seated at rectangular banquet tables, but most of the time his gaze was on Bruce.

“You don’t like people much, do ya, buddy?”

Bruce chuckled. “You’re the one who just chased off the people eating with us.” Tony’s stare was intense again, though, and he rolled his shoulders under its weight. “No, I don’t like people. People usually don’t like me, either.”

“Why’s that?”

“The Other Guy. I’m too volatile. Once people find out my other personality is so violent, and a killer, they tend to leave me alone.” He stared back at Tony evenly. Would that news chase the man away, or was he going to need the demonstration he almost got earlier?

“That sounds lonely.”

Bruce blinked. That wasn’t an answer he’d ever gotten before and he furrowed his brow as they continued to look at each other. After a few moments, though, he broke the gaze and looked down at his food, rolling his shoulders again.

“It is. But it’s better that way. I won’t hurt anyone.”

“Is that why you’re here, so you won’t hurt anyone?” Tony had gone back to eating but it was calculated movements, talking taking priority.

“I’m not functional in the outside world. Too many triggers.”

“Have you tried to work on that?”

Bruce looked up at him sharply. “What do you mean by that?”

Tony shrugged and smiled his disarming smile. “It just seems you like it here. Maybe you’ve given up.”

“You know, I may not like people, but at least I’m not a dick.” He couldn’t eat anymore, couldn’t deal with anymore, so he bussed his tray and went to sit with the orderlies. If Tony knew the rules, he wouldn’t follow.

‘Better than Donald,’ Bruce thought wryly. “I don’t think so,” he murmured to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama drama!

They didn’t speak for the rest of the evening, though not for lack of Tony trying. He chatted up Bruce while they watched TV in the common room. He even resorted to sitting on Bruce’s bed while the other man read the newspaper before lights out. But if there was one thing Bruce was good at, it was blocking things out, and so he just turned that talent on Tony.

Breakfast was spent in a moody silence. Tony appeared to have given up, or maybe the medications were having their effect. In the mindless chatter of the night before, Bruce had learned they put Tony on Seroquel, and he’d seen that have some harsh side effects. Surprisingly he felt a pang of worry, watching the formerly animated man just stare at his food gloomily.

“Hey. You okay?”

Tony stirred like he’d been asleep, looking up at Bruce with dark brown eyes. “Yeah. Just…tired.” He took a bite of eggs, grimaced, and didn’t take a second. “I’m gonna starve if they keep feeding us this slop.” The words sounded right but the tone was wrong, flat and dead.

Bruce gave a half smile, as if in encouragement, and bussed both their trays when breakfast was over. Tony hadn’t eaten any more.

Back in their room before therapy Bruce tried to concentrate on tidying his side of the room, but found himself watching Tony instead. The man was laying on his unmade bed with his arms wrapped around the pillow, just staring into space.

“Why don’t you skip therapy and take a nap?”

Tony stirred like he had at breakfast, as if he’d been deep in thought and was surprised to hear someone talking to him. “Yeah, maybe I will.” He didn’t need much encouragement, crawling under his blankets and turning his back to the rest of the room.

Group therapy was pointless and stressful for Bruce, as usual. He knew about coping skills. He knew the root of his problem. He really didn’t have anything to learn from therapy. The only thing it did do was put everyone at risk, since any talk of family was a potential trigger for him.

Once therapy was over it was lunch time and he went to check on Tony. The man was out cold and wouldn’t respond to Bruce calling his name, so he left him. An hour later he returned and Tony was sitting up in bed, just staring again.

“How’re you feeling?”

Tony shrugged and scowled, mumbling, “Visiting hours.” Then he got up and walked out of the room. Bruce went to the doorway and watched him walk down the hall, then moved to the common room to watch TV with the others who never had visitors. He couldn’t help but glance, though, as a redheaded woman sat down on a couch next to Tony and started talking to him, able to overhear snippets if he listened closely. To be honest, he was almost surprised the girlfriend was real, when so much else of Tony’s life seemed to be a delusion.

“You didn’t get dressed to see me?” Pepper asked with some concern. Tony shrugged and mumbled something in return. She frowned and leaned against his chest; he visibly stiffened. “What’s wrong, baby?” Pepper looked up at him and leaned back with the cold reception, and Tony stood, starting to pace in front of her.

“What am I doing here, Pep? Why’d you put me in here?”

Pepper glanced around guiltily. “I was worried, Tony.”

“Worried about what?” Tony was growing more agitated and Bruce frowned. He’d seen this before with other patients on Seroquel.

“You were acting crazy, Tony! Okay? It wasn’t just me, it was your family too! Don’t you know I talked to them about this?” Her voice was petulant and high and she perched on the edge of the couch, hands clasped in her lap.

“You just want my money! You’re all just after my money!” He growled and glared down at her, and Bruce was reminded about what Tony had told Donald when they were first introduced: billionaire.

“What money, Tony? You don’t have any money!”

And then it happened. Tony raised his hand and before Pepper could do more than widen her eyes in surprise he slapped her so hard she sprawled back on the couch. Bruce flinched.

Immediately, orderlies were on Tony, wrestling him away as he yelled at her that she was a liar and a gold digger. Pepper just sat in shock, flushed red and holding her cheek, watching as they put him in the solitary room. She got up and hurried out, crying.

The whole thing had shaken Bruce, too. He remembered his mother and father. He remembered words slung at each other, and the sound of his father’s fist against his mother’s skull. It made him get up as well, locking worried, hazel eyes with his watching therapist as he nearly ran to his room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of that tag...

Tony spent the night in solitary. Bruce had experience with that white, padded room; he wasn’t surprised when Tony was haggard the next morning. Bruce never remembered the morning after an episode and that haunted him badly enough. He couldn’t imagine how Tony must feel if all his memories were intact.

The other man was obviously over the side effects of the Seroquel, his eyes lively and bright again, but haunted. He was quiet and reserved all day, refusing to eat anything. Bruce couldn’t seem to avoid hanging near Tony, urging him unsuccessfully to eat, staying by him in silent support. Tony didn’t seem to notice, or he didn’t mind. He even started to come around after dinner, making small conversation with Bruce.

Even when Tony got to use the phone for a personal call, Bruce still sat next to him at the small table, reading the day’s newspaper. He wasn’t surprised the call was to Pepper. After the fiasco the day before, he also wasn’t shocked at the direction the conversation went.

“Hey baby. It’s me.”

“I called to apologize-” Tony winced as a blast of yelling hit his ear, loud enough for Bruce to hear but not make out the words.

“Pep, it wasn’t me! They put me on this med and it totally fucked with my head!” There was sudden quiet as Pepper lowered her voice.

“No, baby, don’t say that. I love you.”

“Pepper, I swear I love you. I’d never’ve hit you if I wasn’t doped out of my mind.”

And then he hung up with an air of resignation. Bruce wasn’t even sure Pepper had still been on the line for the last part. The way Tony had spoken made it sound like he had been trying to convince himself.

Bruce watched as Tony went back to their room, then followed. The man was sitting on his bed, rubbing his face. Bruce sat on his own bed across from him. “She broke up with you, huh?”

Tony nodded and sighed, and Bruce shocked himself by moving to sit beside him and squeeze his shoulder. He didn’t know what to say. What does one say to someone they barely know, when that person is going through a crisis? So they sat there in silence for a long time before Tony stirred.

“I should sue this damned hospital for giving me that med,” he said bitterly.

Bruce just hummed in response. “How are you feeling?” he asked carefully.

“Ashamed. Depressed. Betrayed.” Tony shrugged and Bruce removed his hand, beginning to twist his fingers together in his lap, leaning on his elbows. “She said she talked to my family. She must mean my uncle Obadiah. My parents are dead, and I’m an only child. I thought Obadiah liked me, though. Why would he put me in here?”

Bruce knew he needed to tread carefully here, not knowing what was delusion and what was real. “She said you were acting crazy?”

Tony scowled. “I don’t know what she meant by that. I’m not crazy. And I am a billionaire.” He almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself of something again. Petulant.

Nodding, Bruce got up and went to change for bed in the bathroom, grabbing a pair of sleep pants out of his chest of drawers. “Have you talked to your therapist about it?” he called, leaving the door cracked so they could continue the conversation.

“All she does is smile and nod,” he complained, closing the bedroom door so he could change also. He was folding his jeans and putting them away when Bruce returned, both of them in sleep pants and a t-shirt, another rule of the institution.

“Well, let’s sleep on it,” Bruce replied, not wanting to get into a discussion about something he was sure was a delusion. He nearly sighed with relief when Tony nodded and crawled into bed.

“Thanks, big guy,” he smirked at Bruce and switching off the lamp on his bedside table.

“No problem,” Bruce smiled as he got into bed as well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has feels!

Tony wasn’t gone in a week, like Bruce expected. He wasn’t gone after two weeks, or three. Bruce didn’t even keep count of the days eventually, until one morning Tony made a comment that it was their “one month anniversary.”

The two of them had become friends over that first month. Tony learned to not talk about family with Bruce, which was fine because he didn’t want to think about his dead parents anyway. And Bruce didn’t question when Tony went off on some rant that had to do with him being a “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.” Tony eventually stopped using his StarkPad, slipping it into the top drawer of his bedside table one day when the battery died, instead of plugging it in to charge. And Bruce started opening up in therapy when Tony was there, much to the delight of the hospital staff.

“It’s been a month?” The fact that it had been so long surprised Bruce. The days had started flying by with Tony’s company. The other man pulled him out of his shell - so much so that he’d started feeling claustrophobic recently, trapped by the small world the institution offered.

“Yep. Thirty long ones. Half-way to getting to see the judge so I can get out of here.” Tony smirked at him, both of them brushing their teeth together in the bathroom mirror before breakfast. “You gonna miss me when I’m gone?”

Yes. Yes he would. The realization that the idea of Tony leaving made his heart beat anxiously was another surprise. The morning was full of them. “I guess so. Who’ll watch Mythbusters with me if you leave?” He gave the other man a half-smile and rinsed out his mouth, his mind racing as he moved into the room to tug on a shirt. He didn’t want Tony to leave him. Wow.

“What about you? Are you voluntary or involuntary?” Tony’s voice broke into Bruce examining his reactions as the other man strode into the room to dress as well.

“Voluntary, actually,” he murmured. For the first time, ever, his brain took the chance to inform him that meant he could leave whenever he wanted. Not that he hadn’t been aware of that fact; he just hadn’t ever had the slightest inclination to leave before. Even as the thought of being in the outside world terrified him, the idea of being without his roommate was incomprehensible.

Bruce started counting days again after that, resenting them for going by so quickly. A month was four weeks. A week was seven days. A day was only 24 hours. Selfishly he thought to himself that maybe they’d extend Tony’s commitment for another 60 days, but he knew that wouldn’t happen.

Tony had made great strides on medication. The doctors had finally found a combination that worked, and bit by bit Bruce learned the truth about the man’s life as delusions faded away and Tony came to grips with reality.

There was a Stark Industries, but there was also a good reason Bruce had never heard of it. Tony’s dad, Howard, had been a gunsmith with his own local shop and a hefty dose of the American Dream. He and his wife had saved as much as they could, and when they were both killed in a plane crash when Tony was 15, the boy inherited the family business. He didn’t have any interest in guns, though. What Tony loved was cars. So after high school and trade school, he took the shop space his dad had owned and turned it into a garage. Just like his father, Tony was locally famous. By the time he was 20 he’d moved into the apartment above the shop and sold the family home. With no rent or mortgage and a successful business, he was able to take up expensive hobbies - booze, women, and drag racing.

Tony’s uncle, Obadiah, was the only tempering force in his life until he hired Pepper as office manager for the garage. It took a few years, but she weaned him off the women and then the racing, and claimed him for herself. She only wanted what was best for him, but what she didn’t realize was what was lurking right beneath the surface of her lover. An illness that was simultaneously appeased and nurtured by his destructive ways.

It started with little things, probably initially triggered by his desire to provide for her and to protect her, and the stress that responsibility caused him emotionally. He started drinking more heavily, in secret. And he started taking money from the company to gamble, trying to hit it big so the two of them could move into a real home together. Pepper didn’t say anything about the amounts that went missing, convincing herself it was his money to do with as he pleased. She regretted it when she came into the office one morning and found their accounts were drained and Tony was gone.

After 24 hours they were able to report him missing to the police. It was another week before the police in Las Vegas arrested him for sleeping on the street. He’d lost everything, and caused a mental breakdown that left him convinced of the life he’d originally told Bruce.

Despite the break-up, Pepper still cared for him. She stayed on as office manager pro bono, living the the garage apartment to avoid rent and managing to pay the shop’s employees with the amount of business they had coming in. She didn’t visit him again, though, turning over the guardianship of his involuntary commitment to Obadiah.

Bruce locked himself in their room the day Tony went to court. He was irritable, couldn’t focus on anything and couldn’t even bring himself to eat. The staff tried to placate him, but to no avail. He’d made great strides himself in the past two months, but all of it reverted with the idea of losing Tony.

When his roommate showed up after dinner, Bruce didn’t even need to hear the news to know Tony would be leaving the next day. He could tell by the grin on the man’s face, and his flippant attitude as he shook hands and hugged the staff cut Bruce to the core. His eyes turned hazel, clouding his vision from seeing the pain in Tony’s gaze when they locked eyes. The Other Guy rumbled at him, keeping him from hearing the sobriety in Tony’s voice when his roommate gave him a tight hug and told him he’d miss him. Bruce didn’t catch any of that, just pulling away and mumbling about being tired before he retreated to the safety of his bed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce, y u be so difficult?

Bruce didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t pretend away the reason why, either. The thought of Tony leaving the next day made his eyes burn and his heart break. He’d felt like this once before, for a nurse who had worked at the institution for a while. Betty had seemed to like him too, so one day he confessed his feelings to her. She hadn’t responded then, but just like Tony, the next day she was gone.

He made it a week after Tony left. A blurred, gray week that seemed to last an eternity while he argued with himself. His roommate? That really was insane. He didn’t like men, and Tony obviously felt the same, given his track record. How could he have fallen in love with him?

It surprised him when Tony called after a week and asked to come see him the next day. Sure, he told him, of course. And he forced himself to make a carefree joke about it only having been a week. Tony’s reaction, a pregnant pause and then a serious ‘Yeah,’ made his heart beat faster for some reason he couldn’t quite grasp.

Tony asked for a private room when he came, and Bruce met him in the little office with a big window looking out into the common room. His old roommate looked good in jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt over a long-sleeved tee, his hair gelled and styled in a way he’d never been able to do in the institution. Bruce felt his palms start to sweat just looking at him and he hid his hands in his lap.

“So, how ya been? How’s Point Break?” Tony smirked a little, although he looked distracted. He rubbed his hands together and leaned back in the chair, but his eyes never moved from Bruce’s.

“Thor is fine. The same. I’ve been alright. I have my room back to myself again.” Tony might have had his gaze locked on his, but Bruce found he had to look anywhere but at the man’s face.

Tony chuckled nervously. “I bet you’re in heaven, then.” The words were off as well, and their tone pulled Bruce’s eyes to Tony’s. Something was up.

“Yeah, well, you know me.” Bruce shrugged dismissively. “How’re you doing?”

The other man returned the shrug and rubbed the back of his neck. “Good. Pepper kept everything in order for me. I actually had enough money when I got out to get her a decent apartment and start paying her again.” Suddenly all Tony’s fidgeting stopped and he leaned forward, his voice lowering. “You know, it’s lonely, though.”

Bruce frowned. What did that mean? He gave Tony a quizzical look and his old roommate laughed tightly and leaned back again, his hands in his lap.

“I guess I’m trying to ask if you want to leave this dump and come be my roommate again.”

It took a lot of effort for Bruce to keep his jaw from hitting the table, so much so that he had no control whatsoever over the flush he felt creep up his neck. Or the way the one word he could think of came out in a stammer. “W-What?”

Tony leaned forward again, putting his hands on the table and twining his fingers together, his voice serious. “You don’t need to be here, Big Guy. Come live with me. I can give you room and board. You can get a grant and go back to school. I know you want to.”

That was indeed his dream, to pick back up with the PhD in physics that he’d had to be withdrawn from when his illness asserted itself. Right now, though, the only thing going through his head was ‘Tony wants me to move in with him…’ He shook his head. “I can’t do that,” he murmured. “I can’t be out there. I might hurt somebody.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” the other man growled. “You know you’re stronger than that. You’re just scared to try.”

Bruce finished flushing with the accusation, his arms crossing over his chest defensively. “I’m not scared, I’m reasonable. Tony, I picked up a gun and shot my father four times point blank in the chest, and I had no control over myself and I have no memory of it.” His eyes glowered, but stayed brown as he glared.

“You did that when you were eleven! And you did that after he shot your mom! I think those are some fucking extenuating circumstances and you need to get over them!” Tony stood and started to pace, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Neither said anything for a long while. Slowly Tony stopped pacing and he sat again, looking at Bruce forlornly. “I need you, dammit. I can’t do this on my own.”

“If that’s the case, maybe you should come back here,” he growled. That was it, then. Tony didn’t want him, he just wanted a support system. Bruce mentally kicked himself and stood up to go. “I’ll see you, Tony. Be safe.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bruce has a crisis.

Tony started calling every evening after that. Originally they tried to start with chit chat but it always led down the same road and ended with Tony raising his voice in frustration and Bruce just clamming up. Eventually, they could barely be civil with each other, even at the beginning. Tony was never mean, never actually yelled or resorted to the verbal shoulder shaking in which he probably so desperately wanted to indulge. It was Bruce who would yell, at the end, his head swimming with conflicting emotions of wanting to be found and fearing the consequences. It was Bruce who would always hang up the phone after Tony finally fell silent.

It drove Bruce crazy and that showed in his progress, or backtrack thereof. He returned to being his reclusive self and only would leave his room to go eat, or to go to a one-on-one session with his therapist. It was in one of those sessions that he finally cracked.

“Bruce, I’m worried about you. You were doing so well, before. Do you see how you’ve returned to a lot of your previous issues?” Maria was a no-nonsense woman, and she had catered to Bruce for long enough. Seeing him improve so drastically only to backslide had her frustrated. She had been content to simply work with him on everyday coping skills before, since he was a long-term patient. Now, though, she knew he was capable of more.

“Yeah, I see it.” He rubbed both hands over his face. All the time now he was tired, dreading each morning when he woke up and facing the days with a terminal apathy.

“You need to tell me what caused these changes, so we can work on improving the good and retraining the bad.” She watched him intently, waiting for an answer, for a good few minutes with her pen poised over the pad before he answered.

“It’s Tony.” He looked at her with pained eyes, nodding when she verified he meant his former roommate. “He wants me to move in with him. But I can’t do that.” He sighed heavily and fell silent again as she jotted a note, then murmured almost inaudibly. “I fell in love with him.”

“I see,” she nodded, making another note, keeping her face blank although she felt a small pleasure that he had developed that sort of attachment to another person. “Does he return your feelings?”

Bruce shook his head minutely. “I think he just wants someone there he can lean on. Someone to keep an eye on him, since he broke up with his girlfriend.”

Maria looked up at him seriously, tapping her pen on the pad. “Those are elements of a romantic relationship also, though. Did you think of that? I know he’s been calling you every night. Has he been calling to get your help?”

He frowned, thinking about what she said about a romantic relationship. “No, just to try to convince me to move in with him.”

“And why don’t you think you can do that, if it sounds like you both want it?”

It wasn’t often Bruce gave out nasty looks, but he gave her a nice condescending one at that comment. “You know I can’t live on the outside. What if I hurt someone?”

She tipped her head to the side. “Given your progress while Tony was here, I’d say you would be able to function in society. You haven’t been triggered to an episode in…” she flipped through his chart, “…six years. While Tony was here you got to the point of attending every group therapy session, and even became social with the other patients. In my opinion, seeing as how neither of you has a familial support system, it could be mutually beneficial for you to work together.” She slipped out of her professional mode and gave him a small smile. “Bruce, it seems like all the negativity toward this is coming from you. Maybe you should re-evaluate.”

The rest of the session was a blur to him, and she let him go early to think about what she said. Which he did, obsessively, skipping lunch and dinner to sit on his bed with his hands buried in his hair. Tony had done everything in his power to convince Bruce that this was a good idea. He’d had good arguments, but Bruce had stood firm on that single commitment - that he couldn’t leave the institution. Now Maria was encouraging it.

When the nurse came to tell him he had a phone call he started shaking. How was he supposed to tell Tony ‘no’ now?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

“Hey, Tony,” he murmured as he sat at the table. His fingers were white where he gripped the phone receiver with all his strength to try to stop the bone-deep shivering. It was an annoying bodily reaction he didn’t get often, just when he was in a situation where he was completely out of his comfort zone.

“Hey, Big Guy. How’re you doing?” Tony’s voice was different, something Bruce hadn’t heard before in the weeks they’d been arguing. He sounded tired.

“Not so good today.” He was curled up on himself, his elbows on his thighs and his free hand in his hair again, covering the receiver with his other hand as he held it against his ear.

“What’s wrong?” The other man’s voice picked up with concern. Bruce didn’t answer, wanting to blurt out what had happened but terrified to take that step. There was the sound of Tony shifting wherever he was sitting, and Bruce imagined the man leaning forward, remembered the protective but helpless look he would get in his eyes whenever Bruce was having a bad day. “Bruce?”

“I talked to Maria today,” he finally murmured. “She recommended I consider discharge, if I have somewhere safe to go.” He shuddered after he got the words out and curled tighter, his feet braced on the legs of the chair. This was it, then.

There was another silence, on Tony’s end this time, then an audibly indrawn breath. “Bruce, please, for fuck’s sake, tell me you are considering discharge.”

Bruce licked his lips and closed his eyes. That had been the last opportunity he’d give to Tony to allow the man to change his mind. But Tony hadn’t asked if he felt he had a safe place, or said anything that might give Bruce reason to question. “Will you come help me pack?”

The moment the grin broke out on Tony’s face could actually be heard over the phone line. “Well, duh! When do you want to do this?” Tony’s voice lowered again, calming, and Bruce felt the shudders start to die down to simply an uncomfortable tension.

“Maybe tomorrow? It’s Christmas Eve,” Bruce smiled as he heard the other man laugh with relief and he joined him, a little nervously, uncurling and leaning back in the chair.

When Tony showed up the next morning he brought boxes, lots of boxes. After all, Bruce had lots of books to bring with them. Bruce wasn’t sure how he’d handle the destruction to his environment that was about to take place, but it was like old times, actually; they ate breakfast together in the cafeteria and chatted as they packed, and that helped Bruce feel more comfortable.

Tony started moving boxes downstairs while Bruce finished up the paperwork he needed to do. His hands shook as he signed forms and Maria rubbed his back, making sure he understood everything he was being told. Tony was there too, at the end, and he slung his arm over Bruce’s shoulders as they traveled downstairs and out the lobby of the hospital.

“The truck’s gone back to the shop already,” Tony commented, steering them toward a metallic red and gold muscle car. Bruce’s eyes widened at the sight of it shining in the muddy snow of the parking lot.

“That’s…quite a car,” he chuckled, hitting as much slush off his boots as possible before he slid inside. “Did I really have that many boxes, though, that you needed to hire a truck?”

Tony beamed. “This is Iron Man. He’s my baby. 1967 Shelby GT500 CR that I restored myself in college.” The car rumbled as he turned the ignition and Tony sighed with pleasure. “And I didn’t hire a truck, it’s a van we keep at the garage to schlep stuff around. My gems aren’t for hauling.”

“Okay, then.” Bruce wanted to lean back in the seat and close his eyes, calm down after all the activity of the day, but the world was going by beyond the window. He’d been outside the institution for day-trips before, but it never ceased to amaze him how much things could change in a year. So he stared out the window as Tony made conversation over the AC/DC blaring out of the speakers.

It took almost the whole playlist for them to make it back to the garage, and Bruce leaned forward as Tony pointed out the building in the distance. Bruce had had the impression it was some little shop, but this was more like a warehouse.

“Yeah, we can machine some of our own parts. Just aesthetic stuff. Anything for the guts of the car we have to order.” Tony waved at an elderly security guard as they went through the gate around the property. “That’s Stan. He’s a great guy, an old friend of the family.” One of the buttons on the dash turned out to be a garage door opener and he pulled into a two-car garage that was surprisingly small when one expected the inside of the warehouse. “This is the garage for the apartment, which is upstairs. Office is that way.” He pointed at a door, next to what looked like a freight elevator. Bruce raised an eyebrow and Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course there’s an elevator. You can’t bring your work home up a flight of stairs.”

“The warehouse is thirty seconds away, isn’t that home enough?” Bruce chuckled as they got onto the elevator and Tony closed the gates.

“Didn’t used to be. But now I don’t have a spare bedroom anymore.” Tony smirked, not even bothering to move his hand from the latch of the gates, since the ride lasted less than a minute. “Here you go. Welcome home.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally!

The size of the shop might have been a surprise, but the apartment that opened in front of him was an absolute shock. Tony didn’t strike as being the neatest of people. Bruce remembered he’d even volunteered to do the man’s laundry for him, since Tony didn’t know how to work the machines. He had thought his roommate was just being lazy, but looking out into the space now, he re-evaluated. The apartment was like something you’d find in a magazine.

Stepping from the elevator, he entered an open area about ten feet by twenty, stretching off to his right. Ahead was the kitchen, an additional ten by ten area, all sleek, metallic appliances that looked brazen in the reflected gold-hued recessed lighting throughout the apartment. The textured tan stone that paved the kitchen floor and built up the walls just added more to the hue. A large island topped with chocolate marble, with sleek bar stools on the living room side, separated the kitchen from the rest of the space.

Blonde, rough-hewn hardwood covered most of the living room floor, although there was a thick, honey-colored shag rug that defined most of the square space diagonal from the kitchen. It was bordered on one side by a dark brown leather sofa that looked like it was melting and probably incredibly soft. On the opposite side was a low, long fireplace topped with the biggest flatscreen television Bruce had ever seen, itself flanked by mirror-backed, frosted glass bookshelves recessed into the wall. Around three edges of the rug were the walls of the apartment, and the hardwood peeked out for a few feet, making a walkway, along the back of the couch and the opposite side from the elevator.

Several walls, along the back of the couch, behind the television, and the opposite side of the living room, weren’t built with the sandstone but instead paneled with a wood that matched the floor, a cut that looked like it would give you a splinter if you touched it. In those walls were three doors, two along the back of the couch and one along the side. Each was a darker wood and simply cut, with a frosted glass diamond taking up most of the center of the door, keeping with the modern look of the apartment.

It took a while for Bruce to take it all in, the warm, golden feel of the place despite the modern design. Long enough for Tony to fidget and throw an arm over his shoulder again.

“There’s not much of a tour to give, it’s all pretty open. Kitchen, TV. That first door by the kitchen is the bathroom, then my bedroom in the corner there, and then yours. Wanna see it? We can redecorate however you’d like,” he added almost apologetically.

“It’s…it’s amazing,” he breathed as Tony guided him between a coffee table that matched the island, chocolate marble top with a pillar of uncut sandstone as the base, and the fireplace, leading him to the door of his room and throwing it open.

The first thing that caught Bruce’s attention, since it was directly opposite the door, was the wall to wall, floor to ceiling window that looked out over the shop. They must be right over the office, then. To his right was a simple bed with a bookcase headboard of dark wood, and matching bookcases filled the wall to his left, except for an archway in the middle that apparently led into a closet. On each side of the bed were smaller windows that looked outside, and like the window that looked out over the shop, they had vertical blinds in the same dark wood as the rest of the furnishings. This room was carpeted, again in a warm honey, and that matched the plain dressings on the bed.

“Don’t worry, this window’s one way glass.” Tony let go of his shoulder and moved to that wall, looking down at the men working below, several classic cars in various states of repair scattered across the shop floor. “And we can get you new anything you want, if you don’t like this furniture.”

“No, no, it’s great.” He grinned as he sat on a corner of the bed, looking around. “Did you put in all these shelves for me?”

Tony chuckled. “No, actually, this was my room as a kid, before we moved into the house. They weren’t all filled with books for me, though. A lot of model cars.” He sat next to Bruce and grinned back at him. “Want me to help you unpack? And then I have a Christmas present for you.”

Bruce tipped his head curiously. “I think I’ll unpack later. It’ll help me sleep.”

Nodding, Tony stood again and gestured toward the door. “Let’s get some food, then, first.” Bruce wondered if Tony cooked, and chuckled when Tony led the way right to the fridge and opened the door on an array of take-out containers. “How about Chinese?” Pulling out a few, he set them on the counter next to the stove and unhooked a pan from the overhead rack, smirking over his shoulder at Bruce. “I don’t cook, but I reheat like a pro.”

Bruce grunted in reply as he trailed his fingers over appliances, rough wood cabinets, the stone of the wall as he moved a little awkwardly around the kitchen. Self-consciously he opened cabinets and drawers, learning the contents. Everything was clear glass, he noticed; plates, bowls, even coffee mugs. He pulled down a pair of settings and placed them on the island, then picked a pair of glasses, moving to the fridge to get some water for himself.

They didn’t talk much as they ate, since both of them were starving. It was late afternoon already, although the light in the apartment made it seem like perpetual evening. The only natural light came from a long window over the kitchen counters that looked out onto forest, but it didn’t help either as it was starting to snow again. Bruce yawned.

“Hey, none of that! I have to give you your present, still.” Tony laughed as he put their dishes in the sink, not even rinsing them before he turned on his heel and headed for the television. There was definitely a maid involved, Bruce thought to himself. It made him feel a little self-conscious, to be so privileged now. But he was soon distracted as Tony called him over, the taller man reaching up to a top shelf of blue-ray discs next to the television and pulling down a box set. “Merry Christmas, buddy.”

It was a collection of Mythbusters. Bruce hefted the box in his hands and half-smiled before looking up at the other man. “You know, I never got to see the beginning of this series.”

“Yeah, we discussed that. So I decided to do something about it.” Tony looked rather smug, his arms crossed over his chest loosely. Then the look faltered with some worry when Bruce grabbed his upper arm. And he made a small noise of confusion when suddenly Bruce’s lips were on his own.

That noise, and the tension he could feel in Tony’s body, nearly killed Bruce. Immediately he pulled back and turned away, flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that…” Sneaking a glance back at the other man he let out a surprised noise himself as he found Tony very close. Grabbing him around the waist, in fact, and pressing him into a deep kiss.

He melted, and very nearly dropped the discs on the floor before he caught himself, gripping Tony’s upper arm again and moaning quietly. Tony answered with a deeper groan and turned him, pushing him against the stone wall between them and the elevator. Bruce carefully let his head fall back, and Tony took his exposed neck as an invitation, nipping at the corner of his jaw before moving to suck on his pulsepoint.

Bruce couldn’t catch his breath. Tony’s hands were everywhere, gripping his hips, massaging his sides. All he could do was hang on to the sleeve of Tony’s double tee, twisting it in his fingers. His mind was reeling. Tony wanted him. Wanted him badly if the way the taller man was acting was any indication. It wasn’t just about a support system. Tony wanted him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedroom scene! (kinda)

“Tony…” Bruce gasped as the other man ground their hips together. Tony growled in response and nuzzled into his throat, scraping his teeth over flushed skin, kissing Bruce’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed when he swallowed hard. His hands slid down Bruce’s back, tugging at the tail of the button-down shirt the other man was wearing, untucking it from his jeans.

Weakly, without much commitment, Bruce pushed at Tony’s shoulder. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the taller man didn’t even feel it, let alone acknowledge it. But Tony moved back a half-step immediately, his hands resting on the smaller man’s hips, looking down at Bruce with dark eyes.

“Everything okay?” His voice was husky, and it sent shivers through Bruce’s nerves. He swallowed hard again and nodded.

“It’s just…it’s a lot. Fast. And I think I need to put these down before I drop them.” Motioning with the discs, his other hand reached up and threaded through Tony’s hair. He might have pushed the other man away, but he couldn’t keep his hands off him.

Tony chuckled and took the box, tossing it onto the sofa carelessly, and moved closer again. “You wanna stop?” He ran a hand up Bruce’s chest to his neck, cupping it and stroking his throat with a thumb.

“I didn’t even think you liked men,” Bruce murmured, looking at Tony intently. How did this manage to work out so perfectly easily?

“I’ve been with a couple. It’s just less complicated, to pursue a woman. People expect it.” His gaze searched Bruce’s face before he leaned in and kissed him softly, slowly. Bruce let his eyes slip closed and twined both hands into Tony’s hair, their lips lingering together for too short a time before Tony broke the kiss.

“What do you say we watch some Mythbusters, and get you unpacked? Before I scare you off,” he purred, reaching up to brush a wayward lock of hair off Bruce’s forehead.

Bruce nodded, but didn’t move until Tony did, more than happy to be caught between him and the wall. The other man went to retrieve the box of discs, though, and so Bruce moved to the couch, sinking back into it. It was indeed as soft as it looked and he couldn’t help laying his head back and watching Tony prep the blue-ray. What he didn’t expect was for Tony to come back and slip under his arm, leaning against his chest, sprawled nearly in his lap. He wasn’t going to complain, though. He liked the feel of Tony’s head against his heart.

They watched the show for hours, until well after dark. Eventually Tony was laying in Bruce’s lap, with Bruce playing idly with his hair. When the disc ended Bruce looked down, only to find his new lover asleep on his thigh. Softly he brushed the back of a pair of fingers down the other man’s cheek. “Tony?”

Tony started awake, blinking, then yawned hugely. “Man, did I fall asleep?” he slurred, sitting up and rubbing his face, then shook the rest of the sleep out of his head violently. He stared at the disc menu for a few long moments, as if trying to finish waking up all the way, then stood, stretching. “Okay, then. Let’s go get you moved in.”

Bruce chuckled and stood also, a little harder for him since the soft couch didn’t want to let him up. Once standing he hid a yawn behind his hand and shook his head also. “I think maybe that needs to wait until tomorrow.” He smirked at the look Tony gave him. “I promise I won’t run out in the middle of the night just because my stuff is still conveniently packed up.” He moved close to Tony and wrapped his arms around the taller man’s waist, resting his head on the man’s shoulder and breathing in the scent of him. “Goodnight, Tony,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Bruce,” Tony replied, stroking a hand over Bruce’s hair and kissing his temple, then reluctantly parting to go to his own room. Bruce took a final appreciative look around the apartment, his new home, once Tony was gone, then went into his bedroom.

There were floodlights outside the small windows, and a few security lights on in the shop itself, so he closed the vertical blinds. The room was darker than he was used to, but he kind of liked it. Stripping down to his boxers, he felt a little rebellious as he just dumped his clothes on the floor and crawled into the strange bed.

He should have expected the nightmares, really. So much had gone on that day; his usual safe environment was gone, and he’d started the first relationship he’d had in twenty years. His nightmares had been gone, though, for a long, long time. It didn’t even occur to him to try to prepare for them.

When he woke he was completely disoriented in the dark room, terrified to move, panting and barely able to breathe with a weight on his chest. He flailed, hitting something in the air over him, and heard a masculine grunt. Shuddering, he froze, thinking of his father who had just been tormenting him in his dreams.

“Bruce? You okay?” That voice wasn’t his father, and with his eyes adjusting to the dark he made out Tony’s face, etched with concern. The man was sitting beside him on the bed, and with the way Bruce was tangled in the covers it was no wonder he couldn’t move. As soon as he saw Bruce was awake he moved to the closest small window and opened the blinds, letting pale white light wash into the room.

Shakily Bruce sat up, cradling his face in one hand, then put both hands in his hair and curled in on himself. The remaining aura of the nightmare lingered and he didn’t dare look at the deep shadows in the room lest he see his father looking back at him. When Tony sat beside him again and rested a hand on his shoulder, he actually flinched, although not away, just in surprise.

“Bruce, what the fuck was that? You were yelling,” Tony murmured. And crying, he thought, but he didn’t mention it.

“It was just a nightmare,” Bruce slurred, shivering a little. Was his face wet? God, had he been crying? This was embarrassing.

Tony moved, sitting behind Bruce and wrapping his arms around his chest as he leaned against his back. “Wanna talk about it?”

Bruce shook his head, clearing his throat. “What time is it?”

“About 3 a.m.”

He hmphed, but didn’t move. Having Tony lean against him was comforting. Something he could feel and hold onto, use to fight the remaining feelings of the nightmare. It was long minutes before he spoke again. “We should get back to sleep.”

Tony didn’t respond for a hefty pause, his fingers trailing through Bruce’s thick chest hair. “I’m going to stay in here with you.”

Bruce frowned to himself and tried to look over his shoulder at the other man. “Tony, you don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”

He could hear the smirk, and feel it against his bare back, especially when Tony kissed between his shoulder blades. “Maybe I don’t want to leave…”


End file.
